Memory Book
by EternalRevival
Summary: A compilation of everyone's favorite superhero family. Multiple one-shots.
1. Chapter 1

**Synopsis: The first time Dick meets Damian, he saw a misguided child regardless what Jason and Tim says.**

The first time Dick saw Damian, the said boy reminded him of a half drowned kitten. No, cross that, he reminded Dick of a half drowned kitten that had recently been abandoned to a world run by wild, rabid dogs AND had just witnessed his food stolen by a flock of birds. Yes, that was what Damian Wayne looked like when they first met.

Tim had immediately rejected this theory and, with Jason's support, had quickly nicknamed their newest resident, and brother, a Demon-brat. Damian wasn't bothered, he took the name with pride and relished in the supposed fear it could breed, but Dick had seen the flash of sorrow even before Damian himself could understand the emotion he had been trained so long to ignore. And Dick, being Dick, would not let one of his brothers wallow away in their own sadness.

Dick is a social butterfly. It's in his nature; it's practically in his blood. But for the same exact reason, because it was Dick, Damian had been avoiding him like the plague. The younger remained cooped up in his room, a single but large guest room, and has since shown no interest in interacting with anyone else though, in all honesty, Jason and Tim gave him little reason to try.

So Dick set out on his singular duty as the eldest brother of the Wayne family, the batfamily as he so fondly like to call them, to turn his new and youngest brother into another social butterfly such as himself, … or at least a semi social caterpillar.

"Damian, can we talk?" Dick spoke to the guest door having knocked only seconds before. There was no answer, but Dick could hear the slightest breath from Damian clearly standing in front of the door, most likely with katana in hand. Dick sighed good naturedly before continuing towards the silence. "Before you skewer me, I have a proposition you may like."

There was a slight creak, probably a shift of weight as the katana was lowered, before the door cracked slightly ajar with Damian staring back from the gloom with angry eyes and a scowl like Batman. Indeed, scowls must have been one of those genetically inherited things. "There is nothing you could possibly give me of interest, Grayson," the boy said menacingly with eyes narrowed and blade still waving dangerously close to Dick's side though how the kid had managed to sneak the said blade past Alfred's prying eyes was beyond Dick's comprehension. "Oh, I'm sure this will interest you," Dick only responded with a wide grin. "I can teach you in the art of social interactions."

Damian glare only worsened (how was that even possible?!), clearly showing his disapproval. "I'll pass, Grayson," he said with a visible sneer after a moment's pause, causing Dick to pout in disappointment. But that wasn't nearly enough to waver Dick from his quest. "Oh, come on! You might like it! You never know unless you try," Dick pointed out. Persistence was one of his best qualities, despite Jason and Bruce thoroughly disagreeing. But Damian seemed to be on their side this time because he only turned away from Dick before his arm retracted, preparing to slam the door in the other's face. But stubbornness was another one of Dick's great qualities as the said boy shoved his foot through the gap and pried the door back open with one hand.

"What do you want?" Damian asked, getting more annoyed by the second. "Don't think I'm that easy to lose," Dick pronounced before adding. " Just think of all the benefits you could reap. Think about politicians; think about Bruce Wayne. Surely such skills would benefit you as well?"

There was a slight pause, a moment where Dick wondered if the other would simply slam the door in his face as he had clearly been planning to do since the beginning, but instead, Damian seemed to hesitate, contemplating over the other's reasoning before seeming to have come with a conclusion. "Talk," he muttered harshly with an air of authority as Dick tried to hide a smirk from dancing across his lips in victory.

Grayson then strided forward into the room as Damian reluctantly let him pass, crossing his arms in defiance. "I'll be glad to teach you," Dick said. "I never said 'teach' me. I said talk," Damian shot back, eyes still narrowed in a heated glare. It would have been kind of cute, actually it was really cute, if it wasn't for the fact that there was a blade still hanging loosely from the boy's fingers who had the skills, no doubt, to skewer Dick in half if he didn't react quickly enough.

"It's okay to admit you're not ready yet," Dick said mockingly which only caused the boy's grip to tighten on the blade's handle. "But don't worry. I come free of charge!" Dick continued, not at all phased by the katana's presence, but really he had no need to be as danger was a daily thing that came from Gotham's streets and the circus alike.

"I don't need your services!" Damian snapped angrily.

"It's not services. It's advice from one brother to another," Dick said with an innocent smile though his words seemed only to add more fuel to the fire.

"I do have one request though," Dick said and watched in slight amazement as Damian's eyes turned to him, suspicious but, for once, not angry. "I'll tell you all my secrets, anything you'd like to know if you never wear a mask around me."

Damian frowned. "I am not wearing a mask now, Grayson," he remarked in a scathing and incredulous tone. "No," Dick said softly. "You are, you just don't know it." And it was true. It seemed Damian, so used to trying to be the perfect something he was not, had lost himself in his own mother's whims. But Dick shook the thoughts aside and only turned to smile at Damian with a wide grin that Alfred had once said was reminiscent to a cat having stolen a pigeon from the coop and an innocent egg while he was at it.

"But don't worry little D. We can work on that later. For now it's dinner time and trust me when I say you don't want to miss out on Alfred's cooking!" Dick then cart wheeled away as Damian only stood there in shock, too slow to even shout that his name was not "little D".

But there was only silence in the hall afterwards as Damian watched from the open confines of his room. He then wondered, pondered over the meaning of what Dick had said. Was there truly something he was missing? Something he had yet to fix because even he, as great as he was, had not realized it was there? He did not know, and that was what Damian feared most. So the next morning, when Dick was abruptly awakened by Damian sitting on top of him, katana surprisingly missing, and the said boy demanding Dick teach him everything he knew, Dick only smiled in response.

"You know you're actually really cute when you're not threatening me." That had earned Dick a punch to the jaw.

 **AN- This is a collaboration with my friend, Slash, because I'm trying to get her out of her comfort zone. Admittedly this is also my first time working on a batman fanfic (or any DC fanfiction for that matter). Usually I update every Saturday, but today I made an exception. We hope you like the first chapter and constructed criticism is always welcome! But not too far, or we're going to get you...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Synopsis: "I need money" was just the beginning of a long conversation.**

Between Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne, the batfamily never had to worry about money. At least, that was the persona they embodied to the public eye. But Dick, born with the love for simple things, had never found an interest in anything fancy or overly pricey, and Jason, keeping his street mentality, had never found a need to spend. Thus a majority of the money was split between the family owned businesses, crime fighting tech (that seemed to go out daily), and any other issue Damian seemed to dish out by the hour.

Yet, even then, only Bruce seemed to spend his wealth on the infinite duties that appeared with being a crime fighting vigilante while, under Batman's insistence, Tim's inheritance remained mostly untouched. Indeed, Tim had little use or value of money, and would have prefered such frivolous things be left forgotten or never existed. But it was in moments like these, as random and varied as they were, that made him grateful.

It had started with a random knock in the middle of the night. Well, the knock was more like a light rap against the window sill at two A.M. in the morning, and Tim was quick to judge whoever had found the time and diligence to climb up a three story high building rather than enter by the front door. But, really, he wasn't surprised when the Red Hood, of all people, came propelling himself through the window mere seconds after Tim had opened it, and had it not been for the younger's quick reflexes, Jason would have been facing more than just a semi-guilty conscious.

"What are you doing?" Tim asked, and though he knew he should have been mad for the sudden intrusion at such an hour, Drake knew, like everyone else, that superheros and villains alike did not understand the meaning of well needed sleep. Jason took a second, glancing around in boredom as Tim shut his laptop closed. A few papers remained strewn across the bed in organized stacks in what would have otherwise been the paradigm of an elementary room.

"What? No souvenirs from missions? Surely you at least have a gun lying around," Jason whistled out half in condescending admiration and the other half in disbelief. Tim merely raised an eyebrow in confusion while crossing his arms defensively. "Your degree in home decorum is severely lacking," he rebuttled, yet Jason had already begun investigating the drawers and under the bed for "typical teenager magazines" which only caused Tim to roll his eyes and sigh.

"Honestly though, why are you here?" Tim asked again once Jason, in a somewhat hilarious manner, had begun contemplating whether or not to risk Alfred's wraith and remove the floorboards in search for such profane materials. Finally, Jason gave up his futile search and had pointed an accusing finger at Tim's direction. "You fail as a teenager AND as a man!"

There was a moment of silence, a heavy pause, and suddenly the dull echo of chirping crickets had never seemed so obvious.

"So you snuck through my window, on the third floor, at two in the morning to see if I had obscene reading materials?" Tim asked, and excuse him if is voice sounded doubtful. Jason merely shrugged nonchalantly before speaking. "I need money." Oh, so that's what this is about …

What? No. He still didn't understand at all. But apparently it showed on his face as Jason was quick to reiterate. "I just need a couple hundreds," he said with an innocent wave of his hands. The gesture, although not intimidating, made Tim narrow his eyes wearily. "Why?" he asked though his mind was still in mid debate on whether or not he truly wanted to know. Jason only shook a finger at the other in a mocking manner with an equally mocking tone.

"What? Can't a man just find condolences in Benjamin Franklin?"

Tim frowned. "Money can't drown your sorrows."

Jason smirked. "That depends on how much you give me."

The corners of Tim's mouth dragged downwards at an even more impossible angle. A couple hundred wasn't _too_ much to part with, but Tim had a sinking suspicion the money would be used for more uncouth habits of beer, guns, and women. But family was family. Plus, he needed to get rid of the other before his room was flipped over in an explosion of gunfire, and so Tim didn't question Jason. "How much do you need?"

Really, he wouldn't be surprised if he never saw those Benjamin Franklins ever again. But, to Tim's surprise, the other had leaped out the window in a similar fashion as his grand entrance while calling out "I'll pay you back!" Strange. Tim would have assumed the Red Hood would say something along the lines of "I'll send you an 'I owe you!'" or something equally stupid with no doubt in the Red Robin's mind that his money was gone in the chaos of the other's street life, but apparently this was different. Suspiciously so.

Tim knew he should have let it be. But his brain was slower than his curiosity, and curiosity is what empowered his detective skills. So, with some weary reluctance, Tim had decided to investigate the gunslinging maniac's motives. In all honesty, if Tim had been asked for what he expected by the end of his search, he would have doubted even he had the slightest clue over the possibilities. Perhaps Jason had once again murdered someone or had found himself exploited by one of the many evil companions he always chaperoned with. But this was certainly not one of them.

There was a women with a single large drab coat that flanked around her as big as Batman's cloak. Her fingers, the only flesh Tim could physically see, were bony and thin with miniature scars traced across the thickened palms and fingertips. Clutched by her side was a boy with an equally frail appearance and a sunken face cast half between shadows and bruises.

Tim had never faced the misfortune of being cast out onto the streets. And though he understood the pain of losing a home, he did not understand the fear that came with the loss of money. Even so, he was not oblivious. He understood the consequences of a widowed woman, and he had a sinking suspicion he now knew what Jason had done.

So when Jason snuck back through Tim's window a few nights later, mask and all with a glorified flip, Tim was sure to greet him with a pointed glare. If it hadn't been for the red mask, Tim would have witnessed the rare sighting of Jason Todd's confused tilt of the mouth, yet the said man took little time from his escapade as he had then handed Tim a wrinkled envelope filled with crushed dollars and dog eared corners. "Told you I'd pay you back," Jason said with an air of confidence and an exaggerated flip of the hand.

Tim only stared at the money, the very same amount he had given Jason just a week earlier, before handing it back to the taller man. "I don't want it," he responded to Jason's confusion. But Jason's moment of surprise had only fallen to a frown. "I promise I only killed one man. Besides, he was true scum. The money is completely free of corrupted taint," Jason vowed though he didn't admit that there was another minor incident that was in NO way Jason's fault. That man should have seen the warning signs and _moved_.

But Tim did not listen. Instead he tried to shove the envelope back into Jason's closed fists. "I know what you did, and I think you need the money more than I do." There was a moment of silence, a pause. But Tim remained resilient. He knew what the other had done; he had seen it with his own eyes.

"Don't deny it Jason. You really are nicer than you put on," Tim accused though his words lacked bite. Jason only frowned in return. "You're delusional." There was a solemn weight to his words that Tim could not understand nor had the time to try.

"I saw what you did," Tim continued. "You helped that woman." His tone was no longer accusing, more sentimental over the recognition of pity. Jason was quick to understand though he did not threaten Tim or berate the younger for spying on him. Instead, Jason merely readjusted his posture to a threatening figure that loomed over his younger brother. His mask now seemed more imposing, but Tim refused to budge.

"I killed that woman's husband."

"Don't lie to me, Jason Todd. Do you truly think me a fool?"

There was another pause, silence, and then a soft snarl as Jason jabbed a gloved finger into Tim's chest. "Not. A. Word," he snarled out before snatching the envelope from Tim's still open hand and swinging out of the room in a motion that would have made Dick proud. But there was no denying what Tim had seen. The woman had lost her husband to a stirring of gang and faction wars. With no job, the woman had then been forced to sell all her possessions including her house to a broker that had demanded she pay her deceased husband's debt. A threatening slap to her son's face later and there was no turning back.

Jason, despite his insistence, was a kindred spirit. He knew the pains of the street life far better than Tim, and while he could not save the family of two, he had invested a majority of his income to the mother, yet had fallen a couple bills short with no time to put in a last minute job before the debt was due. Suddenly everything had made sense, and Tim was blinded with the realization that Jason Todd truly was soft-hearted.

Tim would later drop the subject and leave Jason to his own devices until Alfred came bearing a large cardboard box with a simple "For you, sir." Tim had looked at it questioningly before opening it. His face had then fallen into revolted surprise as he flinched backwards and slammed the box shut again. Nope, NOPE, **NOPE**.

Alfred, still standing by the door, had then spoke up. "Perhaps this will explain the gift, Master Tim." It was then that he had given Tim a note, folded and creased multiple times around the edges. Tim frowned, but took it nonetheless without complaint.

 _I noticed you didn't have any good reading materials, so I bought you some. Don't worry about paying me back, I used the money you gave me._

 _-Love your insufferable brother whom you can not live without, Jason_

Okay, so maybe "insufferable" wasn't exactly in print, but it _should_ have been.

 **AN- We aren't very familiar with Tim's personality, so any suggestions or advice would be helpful. Thanks for reading and we hope you enjoyed this second chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Synopsis: Tim was never a fan of animals, but he reluctantly found some solace in the single kitten Damian had snuck home.**

Tim never trusted Damian. No matter what Dick said, there was no way Tim would call that _thing_ his brother. Damian was violent, cruel, merciless, and had a habit of sneaking off to who knows where. Surely to scheme the end of the world.

And so, Tim made it his duty (as a savior and hero to the world) to keep Damian's ploys at bay and to protect the fair people of Gotham. This being the completely justifiable reason as to why he was watching his said brother now from the hidden confines of his computer and cameras. It only took a matter of time before Damian had disappeared from his radar and a whole pizza, two scorching soda cans later Tim still wondered over the meaning of this plight. So when the Demon-brat (whom was NOT his brother) finally came back, Tim took to questioning the young boy, looking for answers as to what evil deed he had graced his presence with now.

The boy had snuck back into the batcave as he had done many times before with the grace of a cat and the evil presence of the Eden snake. It was dark, but the shadows had always been their home. So Tim was quick to notice Damian's slightly stooped form. The boy, having skirted through the shades of night, was now quickly making his way to the opposite stairwell.

Tim frowned though his eyes could not pick up the reason behind the Demon's odd behavior. Not wanting to wait another moment, he decided to approach him and confirm his suspicions. "Hey, demon brat! What do you think you're doing?" Damian stopped and looked upward at Tim, and despite the Robin's best efforts, there was a noticeable tension in his shoulders. "Where did you disappear too?" Tim asked though the edge of anger in his voice echoed off the cavern walls.

"Why do you care?" Damian spat back with a noticeable -tt-. His posture had now changed from weary to defiant.

"As a resident of this universe, it's my duty to protect the world from your descent."

"Well leave me out of it!" Damian snapped, his tone brash and cold.

The demon brat then turned towards his continued path, an act of his obvious cocky nature most likely bred into him by his mother. Showing your back was usually considered a universal sign of trust, but it seemed Damian skipped all the basics. But there was something about the other's posture, somewhat more reserved than usual and leaning slightly forward in a hunched manner as if injured. No, that wasn't possible. This is the demon brat he was talking about. He didn't get injuries, no, he just got _minor_ nuisances that embellished the skin and caused a swelling of blood. It must have been something else. Perhaps Damian had stolen something, and in his acknowledgment of such doing, had hidden the object in his cloak hence the now hunched manner at which he walked. Yes, that must have been it.

Tim then narrowed his eyes before stepping in front of the other's direct course. There was an abrupt stop on Damian's part followed by a standoffish glare, crossed arms, and the same defiant look that Dick always claimed was _cute_. If Dick's definition of cute could even be considered that.

"I'll ask again. Where were you?" Tim continued with a deep punctuation on each syllable emphasized by his own glare in rebuttal. It was the closest thing Red Robin could ever get to the famed Bat glare, but Damian only continued his opposition without falter. "I'll tell you again." Damian spat back. "Leave. Me. Alone!" Tim usually considered himself patient. It was a skill he had reformed as a detective. But there was something about Damian that just grated every fiber in his nerves the wrong way. So, without even thinking, Tim had prepared himself to launch forward and use force if necessary. That was until he was stopped by a quiet, barely distinguishable noise.

Tim had always suspected that Damian secretly stole as a recreational hobby on the side of crime fighting. He always had the sinking suspicion that the demon brat's heritage would shine where integrity could not. But this? This was simply … bizarre at the least. "Damian," Tim began as a look of pure dread, if that was possible, began to sneak its way across Robin's face. "Did you just, meow?"

To his credit, Damian hid his expressions well as his body froze and his posture, still hunched compared to the usual prideful manner at which he walked, stiffened to impossible degrees. The boy had then paused for a second as if contemplating which answer would get rid of Tim the fastest before resigning in noticeable defeat and letting out another -tsk- in frustration.

The youngest boy wonder then proceeded to shift the collar of his cape while pushing the hood further back to reveal a kitten. A gray, sodden, soot covered kitten with drooping whiskers and tiny needle like claws that left small indentions in the cloak's fabric. Alfred would not be pleased with that.

Tim blinked once, then twice, and probably a few times more that he just hasn't noticed. "You stole a cat?" he then asked once he had regained his bearings. So perhaps stolen wasn't exactly the right word to use because from the kitten's obvious appearance, it had come from the streets, and it wasn't really right to say anything was stolen from the streets because that would mean Jason Todd was stolen, and that statement was a can of Joker toxin that Tim did not want to open. But that was the first thing that came to mind, and by Damian's not amused look, it was not the right thing to say either.

"He didn't have a home," Damian said calmly as if the two of them were not discussing the fact that a foreign creature had just invaded the batcave itself. Nor did Tim contemplate that _that_ was Damian's only and perfectly justifiable reason to having brought a cat home when Bruce Wayne clearly did not do pets.

Tim only sighed and placed his forefinger and thumb against his temple followed by the deep sagging of his shoulders as the weight of the day's events just clashed upon him in a single dogpiled mess. "Damian." Tim ground out with a stress on the other's name as if he were berating a child though Damian, trained assassin and Robin vigilante rolled into one, was anything but a mere child. "What do you plan to do with … him?" he asked though he dreaded the answer. Did Damian need a new experimental guinea pig? Or perhaps the boy found the poor kitten amusing. But whatever the other was thinking, he did not say so in words. Instead, the boy merely stared at the kitten's dopey, mournful eyes before scratching lightly behind its soaked ears. The kitten then immediately burst into a serenade of song clearly content with the brief shower of attention and the warmth that Damian's cloak emitted if the way it curled back into the folds of black and yellow were anything to go by.

Damian then only shrugged in response. "He didn't have a home," he repeated as if that alone would make Tim understand. Usually Tim wouldn't care if the demon brat brought home a kitten or anything else for that matter. As long as it didn't have anything to do with criminals, thievery, death, and a whole abyss of other things that Tim was slowly adding to the pile. But if there was something Tim was beginning to understand about Damian, it was that he didn't understand the boy. The boy is an enigma with layers and layers of Ikea instructions that only Dick could read.

And yet that very same demon brat had brought home a kitten simply because "it didn't have a home". With a final heavy sigh, Tim resigned himself to his fate. "You go get some leftovers in the fridge," he said pointedly to Damian before adding, "I'll go get some towels from the pantry."

There was a slight change in Damian's posture or perhaps it was Tim seeing him in a new light, but regardless it seemed the malevolence in the room had dimmed down. Indeed, Damian was a strange one. Even with all his prodigy assassin exterior, he still exuded a child's heart on the inside.

The two of them never spoke of the incident again, even when Damian continued to sneak off from patrols to ensure the kitten's safety, or the multiple times Tim found himself watching over the cat as well, by utter accident of course. And while Damian's exploits of saving kittens was never purposefully kept hidden, it seemed everyone else in the household had kept their expenditures a secret regardless and remained ignorant, or at least pretended to, of their heists. So no one said anything when Damian randomly found a kitten, left for dead in the frozen landscapes of one of Mr. Freeze's experiments, and had turned to Tim with a mask of hidden sadness. Tim would then sigh, resign himself to fate, and nod his head. The kitten would then find itself swept up into Damian's arms and coddled into a blanket of Robin's hood.

And that is the story of how Tim found himself saving cats off of Gotham's streets. That was until Damian decided to save a cow. But that is best left for another story.

 **MI- It may be a while till I post again seeing as my schedule keeps filling up and Slash parties half the time.**

 **Slash- If you know what I mean ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Synopsis: Dick and Jason go out on their first mission in a long time, and the results have lasting, unwanted effects.**

Their first mission together in years, or as Dick liked to put it, centuries. It's been awhile since Dick and Jason of all people have teamed up. After all, the two were complete opposites. Jason couldn't stand Dick for two minutes and Dick couldn't stand being _without_ Jason for one. Regarding whether this was a good idea or not? Only time would tell. Or really two seconds because that's all it took for some Gotham criminal to peek out his tedious crime and for Jason to suddenly decide he hated Dick. Though Dick firmly believed it was not hate but rather a slight annoyance on one of Jason's bad days.

Yet when the Penguin's stupid schemes came to light and Jason was fully prepared to punish the other's moronic ideals into oblivion (for his stupidity as well as wasting their time) Jason could only describe his next emotion as hatred when Dick decided then, of all times, to reprimand Jason on the importance of not using a gun.

"Dick, now is not the time for your lectures on how and how not to fight!" Jason snapped angrily. "I know what I'm doing, and if I need some stupid morals rant about rainbows and ponies then I'll be sure to call you!"

Jason's angry scolding had ceased to affect Dick as the other only did a backflip and an effortless punch to the jaw of another crony. Jason blinked in confusion before contemplating the sudden silence and what it meant. It was then that he realized, through his burst of anger and moment of distraction, that stupid, backflipping _Golden boy_ had cleared the warehouse.

"Not. A. Word," Jason stressed out as Dick shot him another victorious smirk. Ignoring him, Jason then turned to one of the collapsed men on the ground. The man's oversized trench coat reached the tips of his ears from his shrunken neck looking strikingly similar to a turtle hidden halfway in its shell. "So..." Jason said while grabbing the other by the coat's collar and dragging him up so that his short feet hung limply in the air. "What's the big plan?"

The man said nothing, only pursing his lips and looking away with an angry glare. Jason smiled. Defiance gave him excuses that Dick couldn't question. At least not until it became _too_ violent, but that was awhile away. So, without hesitation, Jason punched the crony in his long, crooked nose, and watched the blood flow freely like twin rivers. "Come on," Jason taunted. "What's it going to take?" The man remained vigilantly silent though Jason prided in the sudden intake of air from his wheezing lungs when Jason pulled out a gun.

Jason only dug the gun deeper into the soft nook where the man's meaty jaw met with his sunken neck before tapping lightly against the gun's handle. "Choose your last words carefully." The man took another stuttering breath, but Jason didn't have time to slice off his fingers or shoot behind the knee where he _knew_ it hurt. Instead, Dick had grabbed Jason's shoulder in a firm hold. "No killing," he said in a somewhat exasperated tone yet the warning was obvious, layered in his voice that bordered line upon Batman's own tone.

"That's it!" Jason shouted, turning on Nightwing. "They're criminals! Do you honestly expect them to learn with just a pat on the back and a "play nice"?!" Jason snarled in the other's face though Dick wasn't fazed, didn't even react to Jason's sarcastic taunt though that moron was probably internally laughing at Jason anyway. "I'm sick and tired of your silly little games. If you want to change the world you're going to have to make an example of it starting here and now! And if you want to continue playing naive little hunts with the same criminals every night, then be my guest, but don't get in my way when I'm doing something you can not!".

There was silence. Then Dick smiled. "Come on," he said. "Let's just do it my way tonight and if it doesn't work, you can go back to your gunslinging habits." Jason didn't even get a word of response in before Dick had side stepped him and hoisted the criminal, now bound and gagged, over his back.

And that was how they ended up here. "This is stupid," Jason said for the upteenth time while Dick flipped another christmas light over the side of the skyscraper where the bright greens and reds turned vivid and opaque in the reflection of the glass. "You've said that already," Dick countered with a pointed look at the other before returning to his lights and flipping hoops of wires out onto the lamp posts below. "Besides, this is more fun than Batman's way, and more human friendly than yours." Jason only rolled his eyes while crossing his arms and leaning his back against the cold cement of the roof top. Dick below only continued his exploits as Jason watched, unamused and utterly bored.

"It's not christmas," Jason commented at the night sky when the silence continued and his own thirst for blood died down to even more boredom. Nightwing, merely a blue light among the pitch darkness of black against the skylight only shrugged. "Penguins, cold, winter, christmas. It all made sense in my head." Dick then had the audacity to look sheepish as he glanced up at Jason. "It's been a while since I hung christmas lights with you."

Jason frowned. "I do not hang christmas lights," he growled under his breath though Dick only smiled beneath his domino mask with a slight, breathless laugh. "You were so excited for your first christmas it was adorable!" he laughed out though Jason's threatening glare, added with the red hood, prevented Dick from shouting it over the rooftops. But Dick only continued without hesitation. "So I figured we could do something fun together again."

Jason sighed, watched as his warm breath, now smoke, vanished into the midnight air. His gaze then turned to watch their prisoner now hanging forty feet in the air, upside down by a single string of lights. The man now panicking and writhing in a cocoon of red and green though, after Dick had dropped him a few feet, stopped to stare in wonder upon his own situation. "Only you would string the city with villains and call it family bonding."

"Of course!" Dick chimed gleefully, "Family bonding comes in all forms and sizes."

Jason gave him a dumbfounded look before closing his eyes and feigning sleep. "Sounds boring." he mumbled under his breath. "Especially if there's no killing involved." Dick pouted, and, after checking the crony was secure, leaped over the ridge of the building and landed next to Jason with a slight huff of amusement. "Just give it a try! We get to take out bad guys and have some bonding time while doing it! It's like killing two birds with one stone minus the killing."

Jason frowned. "I've already tried your method, and newsflash, it's not working. We need to pry information from this Penguin grunt even if I have to break every bone in his body to do it." Dick sighed before sitting on the ground next to Jason. "Your a lot like Bruce," he then commented and watched as it only took Jason a second to leap up from his reclined position and shout "I'm nothing like him!" in defiance. Dick immediately raised his hands in peace. "Fine, fine. Whatever lets you sleep at night," he added before walking over to the edge of the building where loops of christmas lights hung over the gargoyle's horns. Jason then watched as Dick kicked all but one of the wires down below.

There was the sudden sound of rushing wind, a whirring of moving cables, and a sudden muffled gasp followed by breathless silence and petrified screaming down below. Jason's eyes widened before he ran towards the edge and peered into the dark streets illuminated by the glow of man made lights. There the crony hung with half a foot of space between the crown of his head and the sidewalk as pedestrians looked on in horror. The Christmas lights, still dancing like a disco ball as he spun, seemed awfully cheery compared to the man's life threatening drop. Jason then turned to Dick with a raised eyebrow as the other shrugged in a playful manner. "I think he's ready to talk now. And newsflash. It worked."

But that had been some nights ago. Jason thought nothing of the matter, and with little care, continued his hunting missions in Gotham's streets. Until now.

Damn it. Damn Dick and his inferior ways. Damn it all!

Jason's gun must be stuck. Thats got to be the reason. Because there was no way, in hell, that Jason was having difficulty shooting a criminal because of a _guilty conscious_. Yet here he was with his trusted gun that he had checked thrice to ensure it wasn't broken at such a critical time, and yet it still wouldn't shoot. His finger just couldn't press the trigger as if some invisible force was holding him back, and even when he tried, Dick's bloody voice echoed in his head in warning. "Damn it!" Jason spat out angrily before punching the criminal in the temple and watching as the man flew backwards, collapsing unconscious into a puddle.

He would have to go on a trip to the red light district to correct this. Whatever _this_ was. But first.

"Dick Grayson!" Jason shouted as he swung his legs forward into the glass paneling and watched the entire slide shattered. Window now broken, Dick looked up in shock from his position on the couch and watched as Jason literally swung into his apartment flat, once again seeming to have forgotten there was a door though truthfully they were trained for the element of surprise, before he marched his way towards Dick, ragged breathing and all. "This is all your fault!" Jason spat out, gun in hand.

Dick could only blink in confusion before sighing. "You owe me a window."

 **AN- First of all, Happy Thanksgiving! Second of all, good night!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Synopsis: Damian never heard of mother's day, but now contemplates over the meaning of a mother and what it's like to have one.**

Damian always knew what mother meant. It was simply a platonic person that had given life to another, though really father fit the bill as well. It didn't seem to be such an important, valued title, and yet everyone seemed to deem it as nothing short of godhood or a deity worthy of praise. But Damian had never heard of mother's day. This odd holiday had been ignored by Damian's upbringing, and so, when he first heard of it, he was quick to dismiss it as a mere, stupid celebration as forgettable and useless as Valentine's Day or Birthdays.

Yet there was something different about Gotham at night during _that_ supposed day of all days. The city lights had been alight, strung with extra lanterns in tandem with each other and lined with flower ornaments that Damian had vehemently denied were cute. The flower stalls had grown double in size while popping up at random across the city and a few, once rare, card stands now blazed across the stalls at a rapid pace faster than bunnies in the spring.

Damian didn't question the change. After all, it was just another unnecessary distraction and an utter waste of his time. Yet when the two stopped at a floral stand, donning costumes and all, Damian could only watch Nightwing in confusion as the other led him on a wild goose chase across the city towards a graveyard of all things. Damian had been tempted to call the other out, to question what they were doing here, but there was a heavy sadness that shrouded the usual pesky attitude of Grayson that made Damian remain utterly silent and stoically watching with pretend disinterest.

It only lasted a minute, perhaps five, but for once Damian wasn't really counting. It was odd, bizarre even to see the other so sullen. Finally, Damian had enough of the other's behavior. "Grayson, what are you doing?" he asked with a slight edge in his voice, a warning that the other was displeasing him. But Dick was resistant to all of Damian's quirks and had only smiled brightly at the other in a manner that somehow reminded Damian of the neon pinks and greens that a foolish classmate of his would often play with, and in the process, color the nearby area as well as herself in a disarray of obnoxious shades.

"Come over here and meet my mother," Dick called out, beckoning for Damian to come. Damian, after some reluctance, did so, but not without searching the empty graves for any onlookers who would be sure to notice the bright colors of Nightwing and Robin saying hello to a stone with a not so discreet name emblemed on the front. Indeed, the press would have a field day with finding the secret identity of their resident vigilantes, yet Dick didn't seem worried, and after a quick check, Damian knew they were alone.

"Mom, this is my Robin, Damian," Dick had pronounced rather happily despite his earlier depression and obvious lack of sanity for talking to a gravestone with a bouquet of flowers sitting in the middle. But Damian did not correct Dick on the emphasis of "my" because, while Damian still liked to deny it, Dick was _his_ Batman, and so by those standards, Damian was very well Dick's Robin.

Damian had never thought he would be talking to a grave for his own mother had always told him what's dead is dead and most likely belonged to the grips of death, but he ignored this and instead humored Dick. "Hello Mary Grayson," he said calmly with a slight hint of arrogance and an obvious sarcastic snark towards Dick. "I apologize for the increasing stupidity of your son though I have been trying to save him from his own absurdity, I fear we both must come to terms that some people are meant for greatness and Grayson is simply not one of those people."

To Damian's surprise, though really he should be used to this, Dick only laughed away his insults and turned to the grave with a wide grin. "See, didn't I tell you he's funny Mom?" He called out before slinging an arm over Damian's shoulder before the boy could leap away. Yet this confused Damian. Had Dick been coming here often to speak with his mother? It seemed odd since Dick always complained there was never time with all the super villains running amok, yet why Dick would want to talk to his mother about Damian of all things was far more questionable.

Damian never understood the need to talk about such senseless things. If it was not a matter of life or death then why speak to anyone? Especially if they had no information to give or some weak spot to exploit, and besides, Damian couldn't understand the reasoning behind speaking with a gravestone when everyone knew the dead could not speak back. But Dick seemed content, and Damian was fine with letting the other fool around in whatever delusional world he believed himself to be in. But by the end of their shift, when the sun began to peek out from the skyline and the world bathed in the glow of orange hues and golden yellows, Damian could find himself understanding Dick's love for such peace and tranquility in a city as dangerous and unforgiving as Gotham.

But when the two left the empty graveyard, making a long trek towards the outskirts of the city by rooftop because Dick had declared they needed exercise over the usual batmobile, Damian began to wonder. Would he ever have a relationship with his mother the way Dick so clearly devoted his time to his? But, if he really thought about it, how much could one love another that has sent assassins down their back? And how could she love him in return for his betrayal?

Before he could stop himself, he heard his own voice whisper out, against his will, "What is it like to have a mother?". Dick had startled into a stop, staring at Damian's domino masked face but the other, despite his obvious embarrassment in the sudden disturbance of silence, remained defiant and refused to turn away from the obvious stare. The two had now stopped to sit on the ledge of one of the skyrise buildings. The silence stretching for a moment longer as Dick slowly began to smile. "Well," he started. "Moms are kinda like the Earth that holds you up but refuses to take your spotlight, or the stars that guide you but refuse to overshadow you like the sun, or the river that cleanses the soul but stays hidden in the forest. Moms are the self-sacrificing kind."

"What a convoluted response," Damian shot back, yet Dick did not rebuttal. He instead only took the younger's words with stride.

There was merely silence as Damian contemplated Dick's words. Yes, Damian knew someone just like that. The foolish, sacrificial kind that never seemed to understand their lives meant more to the world than what they could do with them. Damian hated those kind of people, and yet…

Dick startled slightly when he felt Damian leaning against his arm, too short yet to reach his shoulder. Damian was a small weight, miniscule in comparison to the heavy burdens gradually collecting on his shoulders and the expectations of his own mother and the Robin title alike. Dick then relaxed and smiled as Robin then closed his eyes and sunk deeper into the warmth of Dick's open arms.

"So I guess that makes me the mom, huh?"

 **MI- Happy Mother's Day!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Synopsis: Jason preferred going solo, but an unwanted tag along forces him to better understand his fellow robin.**

Batman was always known for being silent. Stoic, with a demanding yet subtle presence that persisted fear once it became known, but Robin? Robin exuded bubbly excitement. A bird constantly singing on a gentle breeze. It was a common trait that continued across the generations, and though Jason denied it, he too fell under the common, repetitive nature of Robin's personna inside and out.

Damian, however, did not.

It was by no means a bad thing, yet Jason found the silence unnerving nonetheless as the two continued to trek through sodden land, tracing the ground's prints saturated with past travelers, most of which were heavy weighted animals with the other occasional stray mark coming from a passing human no doubt already dead, suffocated in the past. Yet not even _that_ thought could frighten Jason alone. No. Jason was far too worried about what Dick would do once he found out Damian had disappeared.

To be fair, it was not Jason's fault. The demon had followed him on his own accord. Thus all fault should be blamed on Damian. Yet that would not be how Dick saw it, and Jason certainly dreaded the upcoming, and very unavoidable, reunion that was bound to happen. So, with some reluctance, and a sore swing of his bruised shoulder, Jason lead the way through the thick oaks and poisonous vegetation for some familiar sign that resonated home.

Damian followed quickly and silently in pursuit with one hand tracing the smooth contours of his katana's handle. His shoulders tense with weary eyes and a cautious gait. The rational part of Jason's mind would remind him there were no threats, no civilization, or even a remote sign of human existence for another ten miles, yet he could not deny his own attentive steps, or the way his fingers flew towards his gun hidden beneath the folds of his jacket at the slightest of sounds.

The two continued in silence with Jason occasionally pausing to listen to the rustle of life, yet even mother nature had quieted, receding into the background of white noise. It was only when the shadows of dusk had turned into the pitch blackness of dark did Jason stop in a small clearing to set up camp. Jason worked on setting up the fire as Damian tried, once again, to get in contact with Batman and the others. But their only current transmission was severely jammed, and both simply came to accept their fate. It was about now that Jason began regretting exploding his bike and his transceiver along with it.

It was also about now that Jason wished Dick, of _all_ people, were here to lighten the mood. While Jason had nothing against kids, that certainly didn't mean he knew how to handle them. Especially not Bruce Wayne's biological, crime-fighting, a few screws loose, kid. Honestly, any ice breaker would be a great help now. Hell, he wouldn't mind if Joker came rushing in from the middle of nowhere just to give Jason something to do other than ponder in absolute silence. And yet fate did not heed his call.

The two had then settled in for the night with Jason taking first watch. An uneventful, silent tirade of nothingness clashing with his own monotony of the entire situation adhering to a rather lackluster campaign. In other words, absolutely _nothing_ occurred to alleviate Jason's now accustomed silence, and within four hours of his shift, Damian woke up leading the two to switch positions though Jason kept his gun nearby. Sleep came slowly, partially from Jason's own misguided trust of the newest Robin as well as his own intuition prickling at the back of his neck in some manner that Dick had called instinct and Jason retorted with just dumb luck. But, regardless, the night remained utterly mundane.

When Jason awoke, Damian was already tending to the fire, stamping it out and dimming the embers with what little water was left in the canteen. The sun had not yet even risen from its own sleepy cocoon beyond the horizon when the two packed their remaining supplies and set out from the forest ground.

But something was off.

Jason stopped part way to glare at Damian as the boy also halted mid step to glare at the other in accusation. "What?" he snarled when Jason didn't move nor speak. The two only staring a second longer as Jason's eyes narrowed behind the hooded mask. "Where's your katanas?"

Damian said nothing. Instead, the little demon merely strode forward in aggravation. "We don't have time for this, _Jason_ ," he spat before leaping into the awaiting trees as if trying to get rid of Jason. Jason only frowned in response while barely restraining his own urge to tie the boy to a leash. The only thing stopping him now, honestly, was merely the thought of binding himself to a liability. A very angry liability.

So, with a huff and a small mutter of "why me?", Jason followed the irate Robin. Though it was oddly suspicious how quickly and confidently Robin's sense of direction suddenly seemed to be. Especially after their aimless wandering the previous day just hours before. But each time Jason would see the billow of Damian's cape as he leapt, he would allow his mind to stray into confusion and puzzlement.

An assassin's weapons were his most prized possessions. The significant reflex of their skill, the lengthened form of their limb, and the weight of their soul aged with wisdom passed down through each trusted hand. It was a treasured heirloom that signified bonds more deeply than the blood it severed from the body. Damian's katana meaning even more so. Jason knew that. It was drilled into him by Talia's own doing. Weapons to the family of Al'Ghuls were as valued as the Robin title that Tim had fought for and Jason had died for.

And yet here it was. Missing. Jason knew the boy had brought it with him. The kid practically breathed it as twice Jason had heard Alfred scold Damian for bringing the deadly object to school though the butler eventually stopped when all attempts were met with futile results at best. Perhaps they had been ambushed through the night? But that was impossible and utterly foolish. The Red Hood did not merely sleep through such lousy attacks nor would Damian stand for his heirloom to be stolen in such an uncouth manner. Plus the demon would have been demanding Jason help him get it back if that were truly the case.

Yet there seemed to be no other obvious solution as the two suddenly approached the outskirts of a shady town. Jason stopped in surprise, the small plot of civilization, barely even enough to be called so, was very rural with its small slanted buildings. The shindles upon one being lapsed so heavily upon each other that even now, some came sliding down from the roof in clatters of chipping clay. The street was cracked though Jason took some relief in seeing a road that wore off into the distance as the sun rose. But at the same time it was strangely odd. Jason's GPS had not advised him on such a road. It had not even mentioned a town had existed or certainly Jason would have found it sooner. Instead, it seemed Damian was more active in the area though Jason doubted the answer was that simple.

Damian, however, remained unfazed as he instead strutted forward, mask, cape, and all, across the road to the shabby town that even the Joker would find suspicious. For the only thing that seemed to belong in the half road sized stand of a place would be Scarecrow, and even that was a stretch.

"Robin," Jason warned though there was no response from the other and Red Hood could only follow in annoyance. Even when the pair had reached out onto the road did Jason's mind continue to regard what had just occurred. The two had rented a motorcycle from an old coot with twisted knees and a peppered beard. The man having traded the already beaten vehicle for a hundred bucks though Jason doubted it was even worth that much with its twisted metal gears and loose mirrors. Yet Damian did not haggle the price, and, for once, Jason agreed it was best to leave this town. It must have worked as the two were now well onto the road with a full tank, an additional twenty bucks, and miles of endless road ahead of them before they reached the outskirts of Gotham city.

The sun began to rise from its shallow grave and Damian's expenditures did not got unnoticed. They didn't carry money with them often. Money could be traced and with the villains they often worked with, it wasn't hard to lose a couple of items here and there. And if there was anything Batman passed on to his Robins it was the paranoia of having their identity discovered. While Redhood did sometimes carry wads of cash in his pockets, all of it was blood money, already untraceable from the start through shady dealings and greedy thumbs, but Robin did not carry such bills. At least not without Nightwing and Batman exploding on him. But the amount Damian had was no measly few dollars.

Jason didn't question the other. Instead, their ride was silent as they drifted through the morning rush towards the city.

The next day, Damian narrowed his eyes as Jason leaned against his door frame. "I heard you were grounded," Jason began casually as Robin stood up from his bed and sauntered towards the taller in a conceited manner. "I heard Grayson locked away your beer."

"Yeah, well, you could do me a favor and get it back."

Before Damian could open his mouth in protest, Jason had already tossed the other his package causing Damian to catch it mid-air in surprise. "Took me a while to find that thing," Jason began while pointing at the said object. "Don't sell it next time. Especially not to a broke pawnshop whose only income is stuffed house mice carcasses dressed in funeral clothes." Damian said nothing as he flipped over the katana in his hands, checking its weight, and feeling the contours of its workmanship as if analyzing how much damage it had sustained through their parting. He did not look up as Jason left nor did he thank the other, but Jason could see the relief in the kid's shoulders and the way his fingers clenched in comfort over the familiar handle.

Also, when Jason's beer bottles magically returned to his apartment the following evening, that was all the thanks he needed.

 **AN- This one has been sitting on my laptop for a while, and I forced myself to finish hence the rushed ending. But thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Synopsis: It had started as a one time thing, but before Dick knew it, it had become a habit.**

Dick awoke to a slight kick in his ribs. Well, actually it was a powerhoused punch aimed towards his gut, and had Dick not already been used to such painful attacks from Gotham's worst, he would have ended up with something far worse than a bruise.

Dick groaned awake, curling slightly inward from the pain before cracking his eyes open to see Jason Todd staring back with a smirk of victory. No doubt _him_ being the creator of Dick's current pain. "Definitely _not_ the first thing I want to wake up to at ... " Dick turned to glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Six in the morning." Jason only frowned in response before snarking back, "Sorry I'm not one of your nightly girlfriends though I will say last night was brutal."

Dick sighed before lightly shoving his brother aside. "I'm pretty sure you were the one who said 'I can handle them on my own.' and you were _definitely_ the one who said 'I don't need you fighting my battles for me.', so whatever happened last night was definitely NOT my fault, and one last thing. You do realize I went to bed just forty-five minutes ago," Dick said with a slight groan before falling back onto the cushions and turning away from Jason's belligerent eye roll.

The two had taken a long shift between clearing Gotham's illegal doings and saving residents (well, Dick did the saving, Jason did the clearing). The two, after having prohibited Tim and Damian from joining them that night due to rumors of some gang, had come across a group of lackeys that Jason had proudly proclaimed he could destroy faster than Dick could find their ringleader, and after Dick had reminded the other "NO KILLING UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES", Dick had let him be.

Needless to say, Jason had lost, yet Dick was still paying the price. Though that did beg the question …

"What are you doing in my bed?" Dick asked. Today was one of those rare shifts that Dick didn't have a day job the next day and was too tired to drive back to his apartment where his nosy neighbor, a senile old women, would most likely question his tardiness, or at least cause some annoyances. Thus Dick had decided to crash in one of the guest rooms of the Wayne manor though it seemed Jason had the same exact idea. "You know there are at least five other guest rooms you could have taken including the living room couch and a storage room you would fit nicely in," Dick muttered, already falling halfway asleep again.

"This is the only room where I can store a grenade," Jason shrugged nonchalantly. Dick blinked once, then twice. Oh right. So that was why Alfred never fixed that squeaky floorboard. "Alright. Fine," Dick sighed in exasperation. "Just go to sleep." But sleep only came for two minutes when Dick heard the tell tale sign of a third person in the room. It only took Jason half a second to notice it as well before he had pulled out his gun and pointed it towards the door.

"Jason, stop!" Dick shouted as he grabbed the other's forearm and forced Jason to recede. Jason looked ready to fight back when the lights, blinding and bright, turned on and the two squinted to see Tim standing in the doorway. Jason hesitated for a second as if contemplating whether this was truly Tim or Clayface before finally setting his gun down. "Why are you here?" Jason asked. Tim gave the other a pointed glare for as rare as it was for Tim to not be with the Teen Titans, it was even more rare for Jason's independent ego to crash in the manor. But Tim didn't rebuttal. Instead he sat on the corner of the mattress while speaking. "I had a nightmare."

They all had nightmares. Jason especially could attest to the vivid terror they all faced as they slept, more of unwanted memories than real dreams. But that was what made them worse. Still, Jason smirked in response. "What? Did you get a bad grade?" he asked. Tim immediately gave him the evil eye though Dick laughing in the background lightened the mood. "Not everyone relies on becoming a murder as their main income," Tim shot back as Jason bristled in anger. But before the two could fall back into their habitual cat fights, a voice spoke out. "You two are loud."

Tim and Jason stopped in surprise as Damian stood at the doorway with angrily crossed arms. They had not heard his entrance, yet Dick didn't seem at all fazed, most likely used to his former partner's assassin like traits. But Damian didn't say more. Instead the newest Robin, and by his accounts the _only_ Robin, walked towards Dick's side of the bed before curling contently into the crook of Dick's arm with his back to the other's side like a cat. "Shut up and sleep," he said as he himself was quickly pulled into the depths of exhaustion from the comfort of Dick's presence.

Dick only smiled as Jason rolled his eyes.

They didn't often come together like this, but the moments were as sweet and tender as they were rare. Even Jason seemed to acknowledge this as he collapsed back into the pillows in defeat and spread his arms out along the cool mattress as if to release what pent up energy remained. Tim frowned in annoyance, but Dick was quick to shush the other into silence as the arms of sleep beckoned them into its presence.

Yet, even then, Dick could hear the calming voices of the mansion's resident songbirds clashing beyond the window. The steady thrum of the coffee machine below with the rhythmic grinding of the beans and the almost inaudible whistle of the kettle through inches of thick walls and plaster. And even among the silence of Alfred's footsteps, Dick could still barely imagine the butler's steady pace over the kitchen floors. It was somehow comforting to hear the day begin anew and feel the light that breached their singular room. Even if he had work in a few hours.

But for now, it seemed even Gotham's sins could be washed away as Dick was finally allowed to close his eyes in slumber lead only by the distant sounds of his brothers' heartbeats.

If Bruce opened the door to see his sons tangled in an overgrown sleepover, then he didn't comment about it when they came down for breakfast in a listless, almost stagnant, pace . Nor did he mention the sudden awakening of Dick's cellphone followed by unintelligible shouting from his manager, the sudden apologetic spew as Dick startled awake, the heavy, resounding thump as he crashed to the floor, and the muffled knock afterwards as the others dished out their extra pillows on the eldest in vexation.

 **AN- This will be the last chapter as both my friend and I have become very busy and run out of ideas for stories. So here you are left with one last, albeit short, installment. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and followed. We appreciate the support and hope you enjoyed reading as much as we enjoyed writing.**


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